There is a way

By Michael Maverick

Preface

"Do you know that thing about life? What's the point? We born, we die, we give birth to people, who die anyway. We study and then work as hard as we can, trying to win a nice place in society to raise our children. Kids then surf the net, go on dates, make school rock-bands, try to enter a college, to sign up on a well-paid job, to raise their offsprings in the future. And it goes around and around. Forever. Have you ever thought about your destination? Mission you should accomplish to die in peace? Something, that can make you a hero? Business, after finishing which you understand, that you're useful, necessary even?"

"You're drunk. Let's go home."

God, just like my sister.

"No, I'm not. Don't you understand, the world is pointless? You try to achieve something in your life to make yourself happy. But does everyone think, why? Why am I doing all these? Does anyone else need it? I guess not. Oh, god, I'm a member of "Office Plankton" society! I'm just a meaningless shit, no one needs me in this world! I have never done anything useful in my life! I'm trying to create a family, but does the world need it? No one does, except me. I need it, because my instincts tell me so, because media tells me, parents, everyone around. Yup. That's the whole people."

I sipped from my glass and continued.

"Just for a second, imagine a picture of, for instance, Chinese people starting seriously thinking of their mission. Puff! And in half an hour most of the population just vanishes. Short bodies hanging all over the streets, swimming under the tallest bridges, fainting in puddles of blood with kitchen knives in their hands... Ah, the power of self-consciousness. Here's a funny side: imagine you're a president of a tiny country which you want to win a war with, say, Russia; All you should do is just open the enemy's eyes on their pointlessness. And the victory is yours."

Holding the glass, I pointed the air with a free finger and added.

"That's for sure."

Sarah's face didn't show any emotion, except maybe bore.

"What's so funny about this, genius?"

"The funny is the fact that I've just invented a new massive weapon. Much cheaper and more effective than an atomic bomb or a thousand platoons."

I sneezed.

"I think, I could have become a good conqueror couple of centuries ago." said me, staring at the TV screen under the ceiling.

I sipped.

"Yup, the power of self-consciousness."

Episode 1

****

Yesterday

The birthday party wasn't traditional for me this year. Though there were naked chicks, a lot of drink and drugs, I wasn't in the middle of it.

As always, it took place in my house, and as all the quests had parked their Mercedeses and Porsches near the fountain, the party began. The fountain was a statue of me puking with water - my dad's birthday joke. At first I was confused about it, but then it started making me feel different. King like. God like.

An hour before the party, two pickup trucks loaded with food and alcohol arrived. Then for half an hour we were unloading them and carrying those dozens of six-packs, five kegs of beer and several boxes of starters and snacks into the house. A bit later, the girls arrived.

8 o'clock. Ready! Steady! Bottoms up!

And then crazy stuff started to happen. Girls undressing, guys arm wrestling, sound of coitus from upstairs.

Shortly after, my friends grabbed me upstairs, saying:

"Are you ready for a surprise?"

After walking two dozens of stairs, led by two well-fit guys, I was stopped at the sing "No entrance before blowjob". Slapping sound and "Yes! Yes!" were coming from the door behind us. Zack knocked on my room's double-door. We heard a woman's voice from there:

"Ten seconds!"

I was extremely confused:

"What's going on? Who is in my room?"

"Relax" said Jorge, the other friend.

"And enjoy" continued Zack.

To avoid a unexpected damage to the carpet under our feet, I decided to put the Heineken, I've been holding for the last five minutes, on the floor.

From the inside of the room I caught some pleasant notes of slow jazz.

The woman's voice:

"Come in!"

I pushed the door and my breath was gone.

"Holy shit..."

She was lying on my bed in lacy underwear, one hand holding her angel head, the other mounted on her hip. Oh, that look, that waistline, those legs... A dream-girl, right in front of me.

I asked:

"Is that?.. Is that Megan Fox?"

They nodded. I was about to faint, walking into the room, staring into those magical eyes. As the door was closed, she invited me with a finger, slightly smiling:

"Are you coming or what?"

The only way I could look away from here long thin legs was to look into her amazing bluish eyes, and whispered:

"Hell, yeah, I'm coming."

****

Today

Though it wasn't as cozy to sit on a marble stair as it could be in a wooden chair, I was enjoying my first smoke with beer that day, my back to the front-door. All I could see from that position were the lake Ontario, gleaming under the morning sun, and a dozen of luxury cars parked around the puking statue. Silence, accompanied by the sound of water in the fountain was making me the most peaceful person in the entire universe. I drew the poisonous tobacco smoke and gave a pleased look at the wavering lake surface. Slight wind coming from above the deep, dark water was making the temperature cooler, despite the heat of the June sun.

As I wrapped up my chest with the bathrobe on me, I thought about Megan. About last night. What a woman... I couldn't even dream about sleeping with her ever. Not in this life, at least.

I drew from the cigarette again and sipped some Bud from the bottle, watching the same view if the lake.

Wait a second. I am nineteen, and my father's wax statue is standing in Rock-n-Roll Hall Of Fame, so that's what I'm really supposed to do - sleep with the most beautiful girls in North America! For some reasons, the only things I used my status and money for were cars, guitars and fun. I should have fucked Megan long time ago. Dumbass.

The front-door opened.

"Well, the next target is Scarlett Johansson." I recognised Zack's voice from behind.

"Yay!" smiling to him.

His face was practically glowing of happiness, as he sat down on the same stair and asked:

"So, how was she?"

"Dude..." I breathed out. "I couldn't even dream about such present! That was the best night in my entire life."

Still shining, he answered:

"Good for you, man. Good for you."

He looked at the lake and said:

"You know, Jorge wanted to get you a new Gibson or a Fender, but I thought, you've got tons of guitars, man, and it would be cool to give you something special. Like sex with a celebrity."

I couldn't say anything else but:

"I love you, guys."

Zack drank from his bottle, he had brought with him, and continued:

"We hesitated between Emma Stone and AnnaSofia Robb, but Robb wouldn't agree, she is too young. Then, after Emma hung up the phone on us, Jorge said it would be great to invite Megan Fox. We tried and... Success. We made a deal."

"AnnaSofia Robb? Damn, she is... She is awesome."

"Yeah... You'll have your chances in several years, I guess." he said in a cheery voice.

I answered thoughtfully:

"Yet, that would be amazing." imagining blondy Robb in a bikini.

"Where is Jorge?" I asked.

Zack smiled:

"Heh, sleeping in his own puke."

"Where exactly?"

"Right at the orgy-room's door."

That's just too much confusion for the last twenty four hours.

"Orgy-room?"

"Yeah, where the orgy took place." answered Zack, still showing his white teeth.

"What orgy? In what room?"

"Well, there were five guys drinking in your jacuzzi. They drank too much." his face began to relax and there was no smile on it anymore.

I could not say a word. My sick mind started drawing horrible pictures, and I was afraid to ask what happened next.

"They started fucking."

I pushed some words from the stomach:

"With each other?"

Zack squirted spit to the floor.

"Aha."

****

I gave a pleased look at the lake surface again. Sparkling water was beckoning me to come closer, to touch it, to dive in it. I imagined how great it would be to feel its cold on your face, on your back, abdomen.

Before I could analyze my actions, I have walked ten stairs down to the fountain.

"Where are you going?"

I waved Zack to follow me.

When the statue closed the sun above me, I let my hands swim in the crystal clear water, dipped them right into the fountain. Its cold spread all over my face, as I washed it in the liquid.

Right after the white bathrobe faced the sand-colored floor, I heard Zack:

"Are you feeling alright?"

I squinted at him very attentively. As I was standing in my underpants, looking into his bright brown eyes, I wondered, has he ever done anything crazy? After a several-second silence, sparkling drops severed the cool fresh air and hit Zack's face. It wrinkled and was immediately wiped with a free palm.

"Oh, you wanna play?"

I repeated the procedure, giggling.

Zack poured pretty big amount on me and I winced, as it felt really cold on my bare skin.

In a second we turn into kids. Like we are ten and dabbling in a crystal-clear puke of the statue was too much fun to avoid. Huge amounts of water spread all over the air and the parking lot. Hundreds of drops are facing both of us, as well as some cars, standing nearby. Suddenly, I feel as happy as never before in my life. Only at that moment of spontaneous splashing I understand, it's a great luck to have a chance to splatter some water from your own fountain, at your own three-storied house, with all those Corvettes and Aston Martins parked nearby. And I feel like a king. A king, which is being lifted by an athletic-built friend and about to face the pool.

Splash. My body feeling the severe cold of the crystal-clear puke.

When my face came up to the surface, I realized, I was still holding the wet, fallen apart cigarette in my teeth. I spit it away and burst out laughing, so does Zack.

"Satisfied?" he asks, touching his wet shirt, stuck to his rib cage. He was laughing so genuinely I've never seen him before.

In a minute, I was still in the fountain, smoking another cigarette. We finished laughing and fell silent. I felt pleased to sit in a waving water, not so cold already, shoulder to shoulder with my best friend after having a short-time blast.

I go:

"Hey, where is Megan? Is she still in bed?"

"Let's go find out. I need to change my clothes anyway."

****

Today

Red silk.

Oak wood.

Bed.

Zack.

Me.

My room.

Legs.

Eyes.

Legs.

Eyes.

Megan.

Megan.

Megan.

Megan.

Standing right in front of me, she was packing her handbag. iPhone, money-packs, lipstick... Everything was swiftly jumping into the red tiny purse. Her speed was telling me she was ready to flee. Vanish. Puff. And gone.

Her smooth buttocks, separated by a black thong, were staring right at me. She then turned around and I gazed upon her beautiful breasts.

"So, it was pleasure to meet you..." Megan started putting on her black silky dress.

"Won't you give me the last kiss?" I asked, slowly moving towards her. The main reason for that was her emotions hadn't seem fake that night, which gave me the hope she liked it. I tried my best anyway.

But she put her index finger to my lips and said:

"My time is over."

"Ouch" theatrically said Zack, watching Megan's buttocks fleeing through the doorway.

****

Two weeks ago

Through the terrible headache, I was trying to avoid the fat guard chattering to me through the grille. I think he was swearing, I don't remember. I recall, he was speaking something about my dad and some shit about money and prison. 'Ass' is the first word that springs to mind. The pain in my forehead, it was killing me. To add that barking pig in cop uniform, I was about to faint.

The reason for my brain-pain was the magic of baton, hitting my skull an hour before. I don't remember all the details, but I do recall a convertible, some chick screaming behind, road-lines, police siren, baton... I didn't have a mirror with me, but my head felt two times bigger and the skull was about to crack. Then I pictured my brain falling on the floor, red splash all over the walls, all over the guard, who would still be waffling pointing with his sausage-finger at my expensive watch.

Through the clenched teeth, I roared:

"Shut the hell up!" glaring at him. Then I hid my face down my hands suffering from a pain splash right above my eyes.

As far as I remember, he was surprised by my insolence. His face lit by a single ceiling lamp changed his shape in a wink.

"Hey, you don't talk to me that way, boy!" he whispered snake-style.

"Shut up, bitch!"

The fatty jumped to the grille like a sportsman and a part of it sank in his huge belly. He snarled:

"Listen to me, punk. You, spoiled piece of shit! If you ever talk to me that way again, I will end you, as well as sue you for racism, so you'll feed me to the end of my life."

He was black, by the way. He also obviously had some family issues, cause he had a small TV-set and two pairs of underpants hanging above the bed in the next room.

"Do you understand?"

Well, I've heard enough. I heard my teeth grating, my face burning. It turned red, started pulsing. My eyes, filled with blood and juice, stopped at his sick piggy eyes drilling me. I felt like exploding, like tearing that son of a bitch into pieces werewolf-style. The countdown is on. Rage in three, two...

I jumped to the grid and smashed it with my palms.

Twice.

"SHUT!"

Thrice.

"THE!"

Four.

"FUCK!"

Five.

"UP!"

And added:

"BITCH!" accompanied by my foot heavily facing the grille, separating me from the pig lifting his electric shocker.

"You better don't try me!" still roaring, spraying my spit all over the pig's belly.

But suddenly something doesn't feel right, as my legs refuse to hold me anymore. I whisper as loud as I can:

"Don't..."

My sight goes grainy. The light is gone. And the last thing I remember is a hurtful punch of the concrete floor.

****

Thirteen days ago

I spent that whole day picking up nurses in the hospital. The day before, I blacked out and woke up only in three hours. Doctors said it wasn't serious, but I needed some rest as a result of concussion. The moment after breakfast tray was carried away by a couple of round buttocks, I turned on the TV and dropped out of life till the next day.

****

Twelve days ago

****

You know, I never thought I'd ever tell this, but after six hours of That 70's Show I got sick of it.

In the afternoon, Zack came to visit me. He brought me a pack of cigarettes, some Playboys and, not surprisingly, a small bong and a pack of the weed.

"Oh, come on! Are you serious?"

Zack goes: "And you thought I would leave you dying here?" smiling.

"Sweet, bro." I said, reaching for a hundred in my wallet. "You know me as no one else."

"No-no-no, keep it. Consider it a recovery gift."

"Oh, I love you, man. I so fucking love you."

****

Later, I went to the smoking area to light up my bong. I didn't know how I was gonna do it not to get caught, but it was necessary to relieve the tension that had been tearing me apart for the last three days. I figured out that it would be safer to go at night, so I entered the "cancer-room" exactly at midnight.

It was empty, dark and it felt like the perfect place for lighting my mood. With my palms in front of me, analyzing the space, I sat down on the only bench there and put the pack of the herb out of my pocket and lit the lighter to see at least something. Holding the pipe between my laps, I tried to fill the quarter-size bowl on the end of it, but it turned out to be harder then it might seem. While the lighter in my hand was still fighting the dark, I accomplished the demanding mission and made the first draw.

After several seconds, waves of happiness washed the walls of my lungs, then veins, relieving the peaceful guy inside me.

"Oh, yes..."

It's wonderful how a simple herb, sold on every corner, can make a suicidal guy one of the happiest on Earth. All the problems are away, the body relaxed and nothing else matters.

From out the door, I heard steps, making echo in the lonesome corridor.

I put the pipe behind my lap and freeze, my hopes awake. In a second, the door was no longer healed in the wall.

Switch clicks.

As the light pokes my eyes, I catch a tiny squeak.

My baked eyes finally adapted to the light and observed a bug-eyed nurse, her palm over the mouth. She stared at me for a couple of seconds.

"Wh-who are you? What the fuck?"

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 643